Weighed Down

Heavy.

That is how I feel today.

Heavy with the weight of the world and with the recent verdict in the Ferguson case.

Heavy with the knowing that once again, an entire demographic has been reduced to no justice, no voice, no hope.

It weighs me down.

And I want to rail and spit and curse and blame and judge.

But I also want to numb, to quiet, to avoid.

I want to hug my sons and cry because I know that racial disparity in the world has not improved at all since the abolition of slavery.

The slavery just looks different now.

There are systems instead of slave masters. Prisons instead of chains.

How can so many be so unaware of the state of the nation? Of the world?

How can we walk the streets with so many people who are hurting, burdened, oppressed, persecuted, hunted....and yet, feel nothing?

Is it the steady stream of noise? The ever-elusive American dream we're chasing? Something shiny in the store window? A hunger pain in our bellies?

What is causing us to ignore the truth and turn away to meet our own selfish, already-well-met needs?

We are all created equal, but that's where the equality ends.

That is the cold, hard truth in America.

You, stay in your ghettos and live like the criminals you are. You, don't try to cross the border into my country and steal my job and raise my taxes.

You aren't welcome here.

You aren't valued here.

You will not survive here.

This racial divide, this economic disparity, this lack of opportunity and generational circumstance - It's been weighing on me heavily as we approach the court date in February when we will find out if the boys' parents' rights will be terminated.

Here's the ugly truth that goes along with this: I am better. We are better. We are the better choice to raise these kids. We are a married couple with two incomes. We own our home, have college degrees, belong to a large, tight-knit community of church, friends and family. We are upstanding citizens in our our right. We have everything to offer the boys.

Except we don't.

We're not their family.

And we're not their culture.

And we cannot possibly understand or replace or manufacture those things to make the sting of their removal from that life any less painful.

We are the better choice because we had the opportunities to become who we are.

And for that, we might be granted these children permanently.

My mommy heart is both hopeful, and heartbroken.

Their mother and father didn't have a chance in the world.

And my only hope, my only prayer, is that because of Jesus, they do have a chance. They can become other people.

Or is that just me, listening to my grumbling belly, avoiding the truth that maybe they can't?

Dear Baby

Dear Baby,

Every time I think about what a gift you are, I remember how afraid I was when I found out you were growing inside me. Afraid to get too excited or hope for too much more, like God was only giving me a glimpse before He quickly removed you from me.

You see, baby, I don't know God at all.

Even after all this time. The few but long years of calling Him my King have not left me much more hopeful that I used to be.

You see, I'm afraid to hope.

Because I'm afraid to lose.

So many times I feel you moving around and I smile and put my hand on my belly and wait for your kick kick kick. I can still hardly believe you're in there.

And you're perfect.

The doctor said so herself.

And I love you so much that it scares me.

Much like I love your little brothers and daddy; with a fierce and consuming love that is incomprehensible.

And a love like that is scary.

So much to hold onto. So much to lose.

It's hard sometimes to reconcile the joy and peace I have when I feel you move with the worry and fear I have about so many "what ifs" and circumstances beyond my control. Being a mom is an amazing, frightening, wonderful job. It's still difficult for me to believe that God has allowed me to be a mother three times now.

But you see, there He is, hearing my prayers, searching my soul, knowing my heart, guiding my steps, even when I'm afraid. Maybe especially when I'm afraid.

And you know what?

He's doing that for you, too.

Already.

Even though you may not know it yet, you have been fearfully and wonderfully made, baby. You were created just for me and Daddy; a special order intended only for us. You are the answer to so many prayers and so much longing. You, baby, were wanted and hoped for.

We can't wait to hold you, little one.

Until then, I will hold on to the joy I feel with each kick, and smile every time you have the hiccups, and rest in knowing that God has a plan for me, and for you.

With Love,
Mommy

You Are the Best Thing

How do you choose the words to describe the three best years of your life? There don't seem to be adequate words in our vocabulary to do so.

And yet today, I'm trying to do just that.

It's been three years since I walked down the aisle to marry my prince.

Three years since I left my singlehood behind, binding myself to my husband, becoming one flesh.

It's been three years since I've experienced the less-than-perfect existence that was my life before I became Mrs. Rocky Stone.

In three years we have:

Rented out one of our homes
Sold another home
Quit 2 jobs
Sold half of our belongings
Moved across country
Rented an apartment
Helped plant a church
Started 2 new jobs
Become foster parents
Bought a fixer-upper
Leased a new car
Become pregnant

And those are just the major milestones.

In 1,095 days we have been through so much; Most of it hasn't been difficult, just challenging, as every new adventure is. We have been a team every step of the way. We have honored our vows and looked to our Creator, our church, our family and friends to walk alongside us, hold us up, encourage us, support us.

It has been the best three years of my life.

I could not imagine my life, this journey, without this specific man as my partner, my friend, my mate.

Dearest Rocky,

Do you remember our first date? I remember being so afraid to go; afraid of being known, afraid it would mess everything up, afraid of being judged. So much fear! 

I remember you walking out to meet me, and you smiled. And I felt instant relief. Like I was grabbing dinner with an old friend.

Only we weren't old friends. Just acquaintances. But something was there, right away, after all that time of passing by. I would never let myself think that. Never even admit it if I thought there was a spark. Only now can I look back and say, "Yes. It was there. My soul could recognize who you were."

That date at El Torito, over chips and salsa and endless conversation, God was already binding us together. Already moving us towards the greatest adventure of our lives. I will never forget that night.

And now, here it is on our third anniversary and it's hard to believe all that we've done, seen, become. It all feels like a dream. A wonderful, satisfying, too-good-to-be-true dream.

Every day I wake up overwhelmed with joy and gratitude that I get to be your wife. 

Every day I give thanks to God for helping me get over my fears and let you love me.

Every day I look at you and wonder how on earth I got so lucky.

Every day I look at our (growing) family with you as the head and I feel peace, knowing that you will steer our ship safely.

Every day I get to spend with you is the happiest day of my life.

You simply are the very best thing.

With Deep Love and Admiration,
Nicole